"So exactly how long did this little miracle take?" White pianist fingers ran through a lock of her temporarily straight locks. That was not what he expected when he showed up to the hospital ball after the sun had finally set. What was the point of living in this town if it's going to be, well, sunny?

"Sorry, not all of us can roll out of bed with perfect hair. What took you so long anyway? And really, Edward. A sweater? A sweater?" For an eleven year old, she had the tone of an overbearing mother. Apparently, she spent entirely too much time with Esme growing up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I had a weird day. It was sunny here of all places and it threw me off track." She was the only one who could make him completely surrender with just one look.

"I suppose I'll let you off the hook this time. Oh, no matter, I guess. It's not as though you don't look like a runway model anyway." She sighed. "Only you can get away with wearing a sweater at a black tie event."

He didn't even have to read her mind to see the waves of insecurity coming off of her. Where was Jasper when you needed him? Did all clever girls worry about appearances, even the ones who are actually quite attractive? Edward never bothered to read the minds of the so-called beautiful girls that flock to him - there was nothing interesting about them. Undoubtedly, they probably shared the same mind along with their shiny hair and pouty lips. On the contrary, Hermione, whom everyone though to be ordinary-looking at best, endlessly surprised him with the expressions and thoughts that he could tease out of her. She may talk at human speed, but she could more than keep up with his wits. "Hey, you look all grown up and very pretty. God, it's like yesterday when you were a crying mess wrapped in a blanket. It's called evolution, my dear, and you did it quite nicely."

"You mean mutation. Well, that plus a few bottles of hair product and hours with a straightening iron." Obviously put off by topic and having to discuss with the most gorgeous person in the room, Hermione knitted her fingers together and pouted at the ground. He thought she looked just like a doll - from her ironed straight hair adorned with a thin black headband to her dark forest green dress and a pair of white mary-janes - and he didn't like it one bit.

"Evolution, mutation. Semantics," he brushed it off with a dismissive scoff. "Anyway, I have to say that I miss the frizz." She glared at him - ah, there she was. "No really. I think you're lovely and interesting."

"Interesting. Is that like being special?"

"Well, you are special. just the way -"

"-you are. Yes, I heard you the first two hundred times you said it. Besides, you have to like me the way I am. You pretty much helped raise me. If you didn't like me the way I am, that would be admitting that you did an awful job."

"And you know I'm good at everything." And there it was, as usual - a complete standstill. "Besides, do you really think people will notice that much? This fancy ball is taking place at a hospital wing-"

"-a new hospital wing."

Another crooked smile. "I don't think the lack of use brings any more merit to the venue, Hermione."

It seemed sick to Edward that they were having a celebration when he could smell the cleaner fluid cocktail and hear the suffering of the patients just down the hall. To humans, it seemed, a white domed ceiling, a few table cloths strategically hiding counter tops and equipment was enough to take away the sterile taste, which, according to him, was an impossible task regardless of how highly recommended the event planner was. "Are you all right?" She spoke to him softly now, the teasing quality completely gone from her voice.

"Oh yes, just spaced out for a moment is all." Convincingly, he looked down at her but the smile quickly turned into a frown. "There's something... different about you tonight." He could sense it crawling under his skin. It wasn't the dress or the shoes, or the hair. There was something else. He began to circle her and she, in turn, followed him with turns of her head.

It bothered him that there was something he didn't know about her as he prided himself on being the expert in all things Hermione Granger. He could find her scent from a farther distance than he could with anyone else's. The texture of her skin was familiar to him in a way that was very strange, but exciting to him. It had been so long since he had trusted himself with close contact with anything not covered in fur or a hard, marble-like skin that he could positively melt in her warmth. He could tell you the size of the birth mark on the bottom of her left foot and the little white scar on her right knee from one of many attempts at dance lessons with Rosalie that often ended up in a frantic visit to Carlisle at the hospital. He was there for so many of her firsts - he was the first person she saw with her wide, infant eyes; the first time she exhibited magic abilities when she had nearly set his hair on fire (he learned quickly that she really did not like asparagus). He had taught her the rules of the great American past time and how to swing a baseball bat. She looked like a little angel, a red cap covering the top of her hair which parted into two braids.

Finally, she let her uneasiness show. "What are you, a lion?"

He chuckled at the idea that she seemed to know things about him subconsciously that she had no business of knowing. Then he remembered what the lion reference was for and he looked at her long, ivory neck and suddenly it stopped being funny. He forced himself to focus on finding the difference. What was it? He sat down in a wooden chair by the large, wall height window so he would be at the same eye-level as her. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and his eyes widened. When did that happen? "You had your ears pierced." The fleshy ear lobes still looked a bit tender and red on the outer edges. The pearl studs stood out amongst the red, undoubtedly flaming skin. "How did you manage that?" 

"Rosalie said to act first, ask questions later. Well, in this case, it was act first, deal with Mum later." Jane had rejected her daughter's request for ear-piercing so many times that eventually she had given up asking. Apparently, she took to other sources instead. "Mum was not exactly happy with it, but she did appreciate the fact that I got pearls."

"Well, I can understand. You're still young. Why do you need jewelry anyway? I'll never understand women's resistance to pain for the sake of beauty. You're essentially poking a hole through perfectly functioning flesh." Hermione shook her head. Edward was understanding about many things and she appreciated his fair treatment of her intelligence. However, he did often forget that she possessed two X chromosomes and raised in a society where women are portrayed in a certain way. Even the most genius of girls wanted to fit in somehow. "Besides, don't you need a parent's permission since you're under eighteen?"

She shrugged. "The piercing guy looked once at Rosalie and pretty much fell to her feet. I'm pretty sure he would have given her his first born child if she wanted it." Edward sighed. He should have know. This is Rosalie they were talking about. Rules never quite applied to those of her beauty. "The parlour was clean and everything. The actual piercer was quite boisterous and loud but -"

"A parlour? Please tell me she took you to a beauty parlour or some place in the shopping district?" 

"It was a tattoo and piercing place, I think." Edward looked exasperated. What were two girls doing at a place like that? Not that Rosie couldn't take care of herself, but the very idea of... "Don't worry, Emmett came as well. He insisted when he found out where we were going." Too true he did. If Edward had been the one who had found out, he would have stopped them all together. Of course, Rosalie could never take the normal route, could she? A tattoo parlour, indeed...

"Ah, Edward, there you are!" The Grangers made their way over, both dressed immaculately for the event and Hermione was right - no one made the slightest comment about his attire. He stood to greet them both but Michael Granger, seeming just a tad bit tipsy, pushed him back in his seat with a firm pat on his shoulder. Jane continued with a teasing smile, "Hermione was worrying to death here thinking that you weren't going to show up. I told her you're probably busy, but that she'd see you for dinner next week anyway. I suppose it would have been a shame if you didn't come though, and she'd gotten all dolled up-"

"Mum!"

"Oh, sorry sweetheart." Jane gave a completely conspicuous wink, which only made Hermione cringe even more in embarrassment. He thought she looked absolutely adorable and normally, he would continue to see what other emotions he could provoke. Tonight, however, he decided to give her a reprieve.

"Yes, I suppose I was a bit tardy. We all got a bit carried away with house-cleaning during the day."

"Right. Carlisle told me he couldn't come fishing today because the house was a mess. Although, with Esme there, I doubt that could ever be the case. But yes, Hermione was practically pulling her hair when she thought you were going to miss the party. She had an exciting bit of news." Michael's boisterous, hearty laugh eased the tension between Edward's shoulder blades. Wouldn't it have been easier if Carlisle just told people that he didn't fish? After nearly half a century, one would think the vampire could lie.

"Just a bit of remodeling around the house. With four healthy men around, our egos would suffer a bit of a blow if we had to hire someone." He wanted to turn the conversation away from his existence as quickly as possible. Yes, Edward was an expert liar by now and he could sense that no one suspected them, but the more the lies built, the more difficult it was to catch up with them. It was Alice's last little slip-up that forced them to relocate, not that any of them would ever blame her. "So what is the exciting news?"

The girl had the decency to blush a bit at the attention being diverted back to herself. "I received an invitation to a very exclusive boarding school." She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye and it was obvious to him, after having been with her for so many years, that she was obviously hiding something.

"Exclusive boarding school! Well, that's a gross understatement!" Michael was a bit red in the face and the champagne in his glass was threatening to spill over with another wave of his hand. Apparently, Jane stuck to water for the night. "Let me tell you, Edward. I always knew my little girl was special. You remember the day she was born, right? Just came right out!" Edward actually seemed to remember at least an hour of sharp screaming that forced him to rest his eardrums for a week. To a new father, however, he could understand how that pivotal moment of the actual birth could make the entire ordeal shrunken in the depths of memory. He himself could only clearly recall cutting the cord one minute and holding a warm, squirming bundle the next. "But I never imagined. I mean, for it to even exist but for my daughter to go to a school like Hog-"

"Michael!" Jane sounded eerily like Hermione from before and just as conspicuously, she tried to share a look with her husband. "It is just a very exclusive school." She explained.

The entire time, Hermione had stayed silent with her back angled towards him and her face turned slightly toward the ground, completely unlike her usual confident self. He looked at the back of her head, still not used to the straight locks, and concentrated. Flashes of images rushed through his mind - the Hogwarts letter, an aged wizard's visit, the relief she felt at the realization that she, indeed, was not a freak; in this new world, she could be loved by people who didn't feel obligated to take her for who she was.

Rosalie would have disapproved, as she was a firm believer that a woman's mind should be kept private and as much as Edward, Emmett, Carlisle and Jasper liked to monopolize Hermione's time, Esme, Rosalie and Alice always made sure that she had plenty of female guidance and reassurance. Therefore, he could imagine her face if she found that, once again, Edward lingered in her mind longer than necessary. He could hardly help himself. If he could restrain himself from the call of her blood, her intellect was a completely different matter. Her mind was quite possibly the best he had ever encountered, and he had been around for a long time in many different places. It was interesting, to say the least, but not intentionally or darkly so. She was not a private person by nature. Her mind was warm, inviting, and easily accessible and open to him like a book, yet so complex that unlike many others with fixed ideals, new twists and turns would appear that he had not noticed before and each time he entered her thoughts, he was introduced to another wonderful new place.

It worried him that his family was the reason why Hermione felt conflicted about heading off to Hogwarts, where, undoubtedly, she could achieve anything she put her mind to. That decision had been seemingly made for her since birth. She felt that she had to keep herself at a distance from them, as they were not her nuclear family and therefore did not have the privilege of knowing what she truly was. It worried him because this was precisely the reason why they didn't make friends with humans, at least ones that would not fizzle away easily. Perhaps, however, he was being arrogant in thinking himself to be unforgettable. He often forgot that the girl was only eleven and still had her entire life ahead of her to meet different people, make new friends. She will meet people who wouldn't look at her as though she was born differently or at least not judge her as harshly as those who were born mortal and powerless.

The complexity then, must have came from his own thoughts then. Logically, it made plenty of sense and actually came at a perfect time. When a person aged from his late teens towards his late twenties, the physical change may not differ much more than in a haircut or facial hair. Maturing mannerisms could be acted as the Cullens supposedly "aged". Carlisle was more adept at keeping up appearances in age. In this town, the Edward Cullen they knew had graduated from the local secondary school, obtained a college degree in accounting and found a job working in the business sect of the hospital. It was his way of serving the human world in which Hermione existed even without the strength that Carlisle had against the temptation of smelling open wounds.

However, where his peers would continue to age, he would preserve his handsome features forever without a wrinkle or even an accidental scrape. He could tell that people were already suspicious at his lack of female company or even interest in establishing romantic relationships (Rosalie and Emmett had long been married, as had Jasper and Alice). He spent all his time looking after the Granger girl and working at bettering himself. There was something abnormal about that, apparently.

Yes, this was perfect timing. The Cullens could move far, far away and no one would get hurt. After all, people moved all the time. He should know.

His illogical side, though, the feelings that he surprisingly retained despite the horror tales of heartless vampires, would not allow him to even entertain the thought of letting go of his little charge, as he had come to see her. No one would ever know her as well as he did and when that man ever came to sweep her away, even if she was thirty and he was still seventeen, Edward would still undoubtedly be dangerously jealous and possessive. He first discovered that possessiveness when the family had gone out for a hunt and he came back to find that the Grangers had left a one-year-old Hermione to the care of a teenage boy from the neighborhood. Even though he had just fed, he wanted so badly to tear his throat out and wrap his iron arms around the toddler. He tried to stay away from her for a bit after that, but found that it was impossible. As much as he hated the possessive streak that she imposed on him, it was worth it every time he saw her smile at a passing butterfly or pout when she begged him for a new book.

No, even though he knew that it was the absolute wrong thing to do, he had to hang on to her even after their time had passed. "Hey, don't be upset." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer. With the usual curls, he would have gotten a mouthful that he would then have to pull out strand by strand as it gets stuck on his tongue. He supposed straight hair did have its advantages - though, in his opinion, not nearly worth the aesthetic trade-off of the vibrant curls. "It's great news! As long as you don't forget to write me, of course, and read my letters every week."

"Of course I wouldn't!" She turned so fast he was afraid she would break her neck. He couldn't help but consider how delicate she was, even if she thought otherwise. The corner of his mouth lifted as he recalled an incident last year. Because she was a curious subject - a naturally powerful witch living in a non-magical world - he could always sense that there were other vampires who would observe her, gaging exactly how useful she could be to them. He was sure it happened to other children in her situation too, but the aroma of power leaked from her pores that attracted these creatures of the night as pollen drew in bees. When he spotted a threatening leer at the girl one very cloudy day in the park, he nearly tackled her in her haste to get her back in the car and drove off.

Her brows creased and for a moment, he had a slight panic thinking that she remembered that particular incident. When he had told her the reason, she believed his actions to be old fashioned (if she only knew how old he really was...) and misogynistic, a word that hardly existed when he was born. She wouldn't talk to him for two days - an awfully long time considering she would manage to sneak a phone call at least once a day even when she was away at camp. He hardly had time to dip into her mind again when she voiced her concern. "The post is quite... irregular where I'm going. They're very strict, you see. I believe the best way to go about this is if you hand your letters to my parents and I'll send my letters to you through them as well."

Ah, of course. It wouldn't do for Edward to expect an owl rather than a postman. "Your wish is my command." At her smile, he pulled her in closer to the edge of his chair with the arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. Their heads bumped slightly towards each other and Edward could smell the crisp Jasmine from her an unnaturally straight piece of hair that was falling against his face. He inhaled it deeply. "I'll try not to miss you too much."

"Do you still have your camera, or did you flush that in the toilet along with your wallet?" Apparently, Michael had more to drink than Edward thought. He watched as the man stumbled to find his coat pocket and uncovered a somewhat bulky piece of equipment. "Now Edward, I know you don't usually like pictures, but one for the road, all right? Hermione insisted." Apparently, mother Granger received a look because she immediately recanted. "Oh right, of course this has nothing to do with Hermione wanting a picture of you to take with her to boarding school."

He gave a slight nod. "Of course, Hermione never wants anything to do with me. She will have to suffer through this one though. May I have a copy once it's printed?" She had been right. No one in his family were big fans of photographs. What was the point when all they ever had to do was look in a mirror at their eternal gait? Esme, however, bought a camera on September 19, 1979 and every updated piece of equipment since then because she knew that, unlike them, that little girl will continue to blossom and feel the effects of time. Any photograph that still remains of Edward had been taken with Hermione and this will be the first one (very possibly last) where she recognized herself as the powerful being that she would become.

Michael stumbled forward and they both gave a quick smile, him with his signature crooked smile and her with her lips closed, trying to hide her  insignificantly oversized teeth. Edward could tell that the photographer had been too close and the flash was too bright and he would prove to be correct when, two weeks later, he received the picture in the mail and see their faces washed out, bathed in light. The same scrawl on the back of the photograph marked the birth of the witch just as it had marked the birth of the girl eleven years ago. Edward and Hermione, March 24, 1991.